One moment away
by achildofthestars
Summary: Clark/Lois. Takes place after 'Doomsday.' Can a returned Lois save Kal-el's humanity?
1. I

_Title: One moment away_

_Disclaimer: I own not._

_Spoilers: All episodes_

_Summary: I plan on doing this in two parts consisting of hopefully just ten chapters each. I'm crossing my fingers on that because I can not handle another WAFD behemoth.  
_

_A/N: Thank you's all around!  


* * *

_

I:

_It's all going to change now but how could you know  
You're one moment away  
One chance left to take  
And you're gone_

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He is a legend, a walking god among men. There are no smiles, no pictures, no last words of departure, and soon there are no few who are not believers in the Red-Blue-Blur of Metropolis fame. He roams far, wide to the west and strong to the east. The north calls him cold and even the south keeps him swarming. Someone, somewhere, will always try to catch him, feet glued to safety and strength showing salvation, but all surely plans die as completely as he did before.

* * *

It's raining, dark in the evening and roaring against the cliffs he's under. Long surrendering the jacket and jeans, his new claim belongs to the cape and the blue strong fabric made of something thick and yet slinky, along the same vein as tights but not. A lighting bolt cracks, fire across the low and grumbling clouds, shining off the symbol of the House of El stamped onto his chest.

A quarter falls into the depths, stopping swiftly and with no echo blooming into his ear. Another moment slips and instead of no echo, there is now a searing cry for mercy and help, miles away near the edge of the swollen town. There is no look back at the former ledge, crumbling under the force of his body leaping above and beyond the steep drop off towering over him seconds before.

* * *

When the gray haired woman is safe and he has yet to speed away, she grips his wrist in her blue veined hand, papery and slightly dry to a crisp even as the rain wets them solidly. Her brown eyes drown him, thick in its watery sea and stuffy as in the closet. The wooden instrument holding her body up falls and soon her knees snap against the soaked floor of leaves and nearly autumn grass. Her words utter 'thank you' and swallow the boots covering his never tired feet. He almost falls with her then, drawn to her graciousness and pure admiration, but his eyes recall the blonde haired man standing over with a knife kissing longingly at her throat and his knee pressed between her easily breakable thighs. He flees, letting her face meet the wilting grass and hearing her nails pick at flowers still budding in the moonlight.

* * *

'Clark! Clark!'

His back doesn't even stiffen at the mistake any longer, and only when the voice yells, 'Kal-el,' does he swallow the last of his orange juice and turn around to watch Green Arrow blow out a deep breath and Bart slide near the side of the crystal lined wall.

'What's going on?'

There is no preamble, no 'how are you?' or 'we should catch up.' There is only a taut spasm in Oliver Queen's lips as he pins the single minded alien before him with a stare meant to burn holes into the soul of the long lost farmboy.

'We found Lois.'

Heavens do not part. Doves do not fly. The rivers do not seem to flow uphill. The man called Kal-el does not move, no muscle inside twitching at the information, yearning to move to a human soul once more. He has left the world behind, the humanity along with it. He has no reason to fall back, and no need to eat the sins of the human race as they bite him first.

'Then you should be with her.'

Oliver stands motionless, unable to find the Smallville inside. The blond of his brows knit forward and his hand grips the bicep of the strongest being on the planet. It's a dare, both of them know it.

'When I told you to be a hero, I never meant to be one without heart, _Kal_.'

'I guess you should've been more specific, maybe put it in writing.'

Brown eyes, dark and lined by a bruised space under each eye lid, sparks against blue eyes, cold and flinted with streaks of green.

'You really don't care, do you?' Oliver leans in closer, voice deepening in strain. 'This is Lois, Clark. _Lois_.'

One moment, smaller than a so called moment, and Kal-el struggles to keep dark brown hair from matching hazel eyes that gently filled with water stained by salt as she told him she wasn't special. He stands sharply, shaking off Oliver's hand with ease and leaving the lone glass stranded on the foot long table.

'You found your way in. You can show yourself out.'

* * *

Orange, light, calm, the sun rises against a green slope sick of the wetness drowning it. His tongue clicks against the stern side of his cheek and while he has been full of motion the entire night, trying to forget the face of 'almost' and 'what if,' he sits motionless now on an overturned tree trunk.

_We found Lois. You really don't care, do you?_

A string is plucked and Kal-el takes in a harsh breath as his heart contracts, a single strong beat mocking the weak beats birthed in its absence. There is no fighting it now, the burn flaring through his body which can only be dampened by something he can't even understand or believe. Maybe one glimpse, a small peek, and he will be satisfied.

This changes nothing; it can't. So he speeds off, running against the air, and near the point of his destination, almost feeling like he's flying.

* * *

She's much more tired than he remembers. Her blonde hair is shorter, clothes a touch looser, lines more dominant beyond her mouth. His body slides behind the corner as she walks out, a barely audible sigh ranging from her mouth and breathing against the elevator doors. He's almost sorry for having left her alone, almost, but that's not what he's here for.

Out of hiding, he walks to her door and places a hand on the slender handle. It's a mistake – whatever comes after, and he knows it.

Pressure falls on the handle and he pushes the door open, inhaling the scent of oranges and lemons. And then he sees her, lying in the bed with hospital covers drawn up to her chin and a strap of string from her gown sticking from behind her neck. His steps bring him closer, the door closing softly behind him by the time he's parallel to her body, enough distance so he can not touch her even by reaching out his arms.

She is almost exactly as he remembers, and it's sharp, very jagged against him. He recalls fire in her eyes, passion moving her lips, nose twitching as she inhaled coffee. He sees none of it now, hardly believes it's still there inside her. Kal-el takes an involuntary step forward, dark brown boot nearly leaving scuff marks on the white tile. She is here. She is alive.

She is _here_.

After all this time, she's not dead. She's not.

'I don't care! I've already told you that my daughter is not going to spend one second alone while she's in this hospital so you're going to have to get over it or so help me God, I will be forced to incur the wrath of God by my actions!'

He's gone, out of the window by the time General Samuel Lane crashes into the room, remembering at the last second to catch the door before it booms to a close.

* * *

There is no need for sleep for him this morning, not when he saves her and she smiles at him, and not when he saves her again, this time smiling back at her as she throws her arms around his neck. He continues, pulling her out of the fire, keeping her from being crushed, catching her before the cable breaks and all she was standing on plummets to the sidewalk. He knows it's not her. He can't be saving her because she is lying miles and miles away in a hospital room, and yet, it is only her face on every woman and man he saves.

Only in the afternoon does it scare him, enough to send him pacing back to the Fortress, brows furrowed and deepening with every circle.

Three months. He's spent three months here, good three months, life changing three months. He's the hero everyone told him to be, the one he could be. A rough sigh escapes him and he nearly slams his fist against the flat side of a crystal. There is a reason he can't trust humans, a reason he must keep his distance, a reason he doesn't want his old life back.

* * *

'You're not going to back to work, Lo.'

'And why not, daddy?'

'Because a month ago you were dragged out of a reservoir and had no memory of where you'd been the last three months!'

She throws her arms into the dark blue sweater the General had bought her the day before, the smell still lingering of new boutique and something silently smiling at the choice of color.

'Oh, come on, we both know I have wilder drunk stories under my belt.'

The General stops, hands stiffly hanging at his sides as the side of his lip draw tight into a line, ready to gush forward in a savage attack. Lois waits.

'You could've died, Lo. Another hour and you'd have been….'

'A Loisicle? Well, at least I would've been quiet.'

* * *

Over the past month, she's learned to avoid certain subjects. Like Clark Kent, Smallville, Jimmy Olsen, and Davis Bloome. They tick at her stairs, clawing gently and murmuring under their breath for attention she's determined not to give. It's gotten easier to ignore subtle reminders of a life so past she wonders sometimes whether a dream has engulfed her for the past five years.

There's a hitch in her get along now, soft and surely to fade as the months pass and she heals completely. Or as completely as she can with scars thicker and uglier underneath her flesh. The refrigerator door is open in her hand when her cell phone rings, vibrating dangerously close to an edge of early death.

'Lois Lane.'

An intake of breath greets her ears. She frowns, one hand reaching for a can of pineapples stuffed into the corner.

'Lois?'

One whispered name, soft, unbelieving, and she feels her legs, good and bad, bend at the knees, almost as if his word has climbed through the phone and twisted around her bones like faultless vines around a cedar. Her body turns against the refrigerator, back pressed strongly against the door as the chords in her larynx work against the other for vibration.

'What's wrong? Can I help you?'

It's a simple question, one not meant to be weighted by the future and salvation, but it reaches his ears and that's all he can hear. He feels the mistake again, fingers pressed gently on the back of his neck and waiting for the kill moment.

'No, I,' Kal-el runs a hand across his forehead. 'You nearly died and you're asking me if I need anything?'

'Well, let's face it," Lois runs a circle with her index finger on her thigh. 'Me almost dying was never front page news and now, it's old news.'

'You were missed more than you think, Lois.'

Hope swims through her, kicking through the water and laughing at the splashes.

'By who? You?'

He has not admitted it yet, but yes, he has missed her most. And that is dangerous, which is why he swallows it whole and pushes it down under the grave of Clark Kent. There is no room for error – not anymore.

Kal-el clears his throat. 'You're back at the Daily Planet?'

Disappointment drowns her, covering her whole and sapping the energy from her limbs. She raises her shoulders – dents have become the norm.

'Yeah, Monday.'

'That's good.'

'Yeah,' she bites her lip. Her eyes close and what she sees is a letter stuffed into a purse still hiding from her among her wrecked ruins. 'Did you ever go?'

'Go where?'

'The phonebooth.' Lois can tell she's grasping, at air, at straws, at chance. 'The night…the monster came?'

He stares out of the booth, beyond the blue sticker peeling from the plexi-glass container and farther into the semi-empty street. There is sun this time, a few dogs lounging under the shade of lone tree, and there is him – inside a booth for the first time as Kal.

'Yes,' he says quietly, placing the receiver back into its crook without lingering and shoving his hands into the gray of his jeans as he walks away.


	2. Ii

_Title: One moment away_

_Disclaimer: I own not._

_Spoilers: All episodes_

_A/N: Seriously. Thank you to everyone.  


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Ii:

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For the longest time, the newspaper remains folded in his right hand as he crouches along the wall of a building directly across from The Daily Planet. The dark gives him cover, and while he's had to leave every now and then to stop a would be criminal, he always returns to this spot. The spinning globe creaks once every revolution, barely loud enough for humans to hear, but there it sings in his ears for the tired hours.

He hears the shift of a chair, a slight sigh, the jingle of a bag being shuffled together, and then the soft missteps that don't sound healthy. He sees her, coming from the doors, bag slung over her shoulder, hair tossed into a ponytail full of her rich brunette hair. Without thinking a small tear of his throat makes a noise.

It's so much. Seeing her in the world again, not having her blood on his hands, not being her Smallville. The shadows of the night envelop her, one single leg left in the light of a post to her right. She looks out, away, eyes roaming over the street.

Kal freezes when her eyes pass over him. The hairs on the back of his neck streak forward and his heart stops, as if she could hear it. Her gaze soon falls away, along with her uneven steps. He watches her back move, the keys in her left hand slightly clinking together as she rounds the corner for the parking lot.

The fingers of his hand twitch and he feels the coarse material of the paper turn in his grip. He looks down, bringing the paper to lie in both his hands as he stares at the page he's read enough times to have memorized. The pads of his fingertips are black, imprints from the ink, gladly worn though not recognized. They've strayed across her written words, itched with anger, danced with energy.

A wind catches him, rustling the dark strands of his hair and blowing them over his brow. His lips purse together and without a sound he drops the newspaper to the ground, already mottled with forgotten garbage. He's come too far.

* * *

Her father eyes her carefully over dinner while Chloe attempts to make conversation easy. Lois bites into her spaghetti, mouthful of sauce and pasta with a hint of broken meatball thrown in.

'I think you should come back to the base with me.'

It's the same argument again, the one where she's more than determined to stay in Metropolis and he's more than stubborn to keep telling her she's leaving with him since she obviously can't take care of herself. Her food travels down her throat, salty and slightly harsh.

'My life is here, daddy. End of story.'

His tongue works inside his mouth and Lois wonders whether the shuffling of Chloe's feet matches the steps of the wedding dance she learned so many months ago.

'Your life?' The hand holding his stainless steel fork shifts to point towards the newspaper on the end of the table. 'Or this Red-Blue-Blur you like writing about?'

Since the call two days ago, she almost thinks his choices are interchangeable. Silly, she knows, but it's very nearly true.

'Both.'

* * *

Her cousin moves inside the bedroom, dragging her thin fingers over the dresser near the wall before settling her elbow on it. Lois looks up from her cell phone, and is, for a moment, troubled by the shadow behind Chloe's figure. She has assumed her loss of color is in direct consequence of having a lover massacred by a new friend, losing a cousin in the aftermath of an other worldly being throwing a tantrum, and even losing a best friend.

'I just wanted to say congratulations on your first day of work. Even the General's proud of you.'

'When'd you hear that? Between the salty mashed potatoes or the squishy gravy?'

'Come on, Lo.' Chloe smiles. 'You survive death and instead of wallowing in fear you bravely face the world with a limp and memory loss. He's proud. And understandably, worried.'

Lois nods her head softly, watching as Chloe turns around and seems to want to leave her company. She calls out her name on an expired breath.

'Chloe?'

She turns, hand on the doorframe and the other on her hip.

'I…' her voice softens and she feels the pads of her fingertips mingle with the others in her lap. 'He called me. The Red-Blue-Blur. I think that's why I'm staying.'

A few seconds pass, each with Chloe's lips turning one way or the other until finally her brows turn inwards.

'He called you?'

'Few days ago.'

'What – What'd he say?'

'Nothing, really. It was really quick.'

They share looks, neither of them knowing what to do next. Lois swears she sees the shadow clinging underneath Chloe's eyes darken, almost to purple, deep and as if the whites of her eyes are dully lit. She feels the inside of her mouth quirk with a nervous twitch. It's like she's placed her hands on the hilt of the knife buried into her cousin's back, and twisted it ninety degrees with a smile kissing her lips.

'I'm sorry.'

The words should mean nothing. Lois has nothing to be sorry for, and yet, it's there. A whisper of something she doesn't quite understand well enough to appreciate the burn. Chloe says nothing back to her, instead shaking her head with a breathy laugh impregnated with no real laughter.

* * *

He can not stop himself. Her back is to him, a plum colored top skimming over her body followed by gray slacks kissing her skin. She bends backward, a slight crackle sighing from her bones, and her hands fall to her sides, palm sides rubbing the seat of her chair affectionately. The lamp on her desk is dimly open. The computer in front of her face is bright, white with lines of black dotting across the screen. He watches the tilt of her head lean to the right and imagines she's staring at the spot he used to occupy – before the end of his life.

He listens as her heart beat slows to a gentle drum, the sound slightly hypnotic and more than enticing. Since when did she become his song?

Kal clenches his jaw and turns to leave, conflicted with emotions that have buried themselves so deep they are the foundation of his being. He has told himself to let her go, to let her live, but he finds himself falling into her piece by piece, always meaning to pull himself out. She manages to stop him with one syllable.

'Clark.'

Fascinated, he has no choice but to turn again, closer to her body and farther from his precious distance.

Lois feels a long stream of air slide from her lips before she tightens the corners of her mouth. It's useless – the shattering light she still holds for him. She has kept him at bay long enough, and now the tide is coming in, stronger than the last time and filled with more shells this go around.

'_Clark_.'

On her tongue his name is new, exotic but bitter, twinged with the memory of something she had hoped to forget along with her lost months. Her head dips and she wonders where someone she inwardly called best friend has abandoned her from. His jaunt away from Metropolis has only cemented one thing – her permanence never lasts on anyone. She wishes she had been right about him, about whatever she thought still might have a chance, that it _was_ different.

The gates have opened. His eyes shut against the force and sound of her voice marking him 'Clark.' He has not been that Clark in so long, and in that second blown apart to many more, he feels the soil covering a shallow grave ripple and break away.

He is not Clark. Kal forces his eyes open. He is not Clark. And yet his feet move forward, marking against the floor a shadow's breath.

He is not Clark Kent. And yet the light finds him where dark hid him before.

'Stupid Smallville,' she exhales.

He is not Smallville, either. He is none of the beings she remembers. And yet he finds himself in the open of a bullpen empty of only everyone else.

Mouth opening, it has been so long since her name has danced along his throat that he can not remember how it begins and when it ends.

'Lo.'

A ghost has kissed her lips, cold and seemingly unreal in its afterlife. She gasps for clouded air as she swivels in the chair, slightly creaking because of long misuse. Her eyes strike his, disbelief framing her mouth as she sees a broken image of a former solid painting. Clark Kent is standing right in front of her. Right _here_.

The feeling of being frozen captures her mind and she can no more stand than fly. Her heart flutters, once, twice, another time and she doesn't know if it's because she's scared or she's happy.

They each wonder what has changed between them. Something has – no denying it now. It sucks them into quicksand hidden in the jungle and more movement only brings quicker death. She thinks that the truth is finally written in her: she loves him. He thinks that the mistake is worth making: he wants to love.

Lois stands, her left hand resting on the outside of her left thigh as she moves forward, the limp awkward and his eyes following the jerky movements of her newly battered body. When they are standing there, close enough to be friendly, she frowns into his face, trying to catch the darkness that shudders under the control of his skin. He flinches when she raises her hand in the air. She pauses, swallowing thickly before resuming the action and feeling the cool of his jacket under the pads of her fingertips. The strength of his forearm is intimidating, not like before, nothing like before.

He knows she's alive. He knows this, and still he finds himself in disbelief until the moment her warmth presses onto his arm and a charge shifts through him. Kal looks down at her, at someone who has become only everything while he was looking the other way. Another step forward brings her closer to his chest and he feels the moment of retreat inevitable, but not yet.

His eyes search her face and it seems so easy to fall into the role of wardrobe challenged farmboy. It seems so simple. Kal leans his body forward, not noticing, not thinking, and when her arms envelop his body, his eyes shut at the emotion she holds. He breathes against her hair, in her hair, of her hair, and his hands fold over her back and the possibility of crushing her into him, as violent as it seems, is too delectable.

'Where have you been?' she whispers into his shoulder.

To tell the truth would be so easy now, he thinks. But he has made his choice, and there is no turning back. Kal pulls himself away, her arms falling gently to her sides like weakened strings to balloons. He has no claim here. It's written along her leg, fine before she knew him, broken after she met him.

'Goodbye, Lois.'

One hand encircles his wrist, stopping him from leaving, and he turns back to her face, sure that one more look won't kill him if he's already dead.

'What are you doing? Where do you think you're going?'

Her face is near to breaking him, and he can no longer afford to break. It will be cruel, he knows. It will slap her in the face and she might not ever forgive him. Which is why he does it. The farther he can push her, the safer both will be.

Kal-El unlocks her grasp in a flash full of red and blue and leaves her alone in the bullpen, feet stumbling and bad leg losing too much balance, crashing her onto the waxed floor.


	3. Iii

_Title: One moment away_

_Disclaimer: I own not._

_Spoilers: All episodes_

_A/N: Seriously. Thank you to everyone. A little shorter chapter because...well, I think the next bit is going to be long and intense.  


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Iii:

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She's lost her mind and all that's left to do is run away and maybe find something close to sanity under the ocean trenches with the skeletal fish. She lies in the bed Chloe's kept for her, a simple mattress in an uncluttered room. The stars are screaming and the moon is crying, much like her unholy soul.

He's the Red-Blue-Blur. It's been him, always. And what keeps her up now isn't the new knowledge, it's her absolute acceptance of it. Her past has suddenly changed from mysterious exits to grandiose illusions, black to white, thoughtless to meaningful. Her eyes fall shut, pouring over the past years of her life swallowed in Smallville, drinking in the feeling of knowing she owes him her life, more than once.

She turns, left on her side, foot up then down, hand over red cover then under. She's restless, shaking off the feel underneath her palm of something inside so different from the man she knew before.

His face swarms in front of her, the length of his hair longer, the pull of his mouth dips more downward than up. The hero she had believed was Metropolis's savior is no longer. The man she'd seen tonight is not the same one who spoke to her so openly months ago. There had been no hope in his eyes, laughter in his tongue, freedom in his breaths.

It comes together now, Chloe's struggled tears giving her ample evidence to fill in the missing pieces and mentally write up the article of their lives.

_He gave up his humanity, Lois. He just gave up._

She reminds herself, as she climbs out of the bed and pulls a light jacket over her pajamas before stuffing her feet into large slippers, that in spite of her reverence for him, he has lied to her for years. He has kept her at an arms length. And for what? A secret – ending only in her humiliation.

* * *

What she thinks about as she drives to Smallville, is why she's the one always being lied to. She is never the one who is pulled aside and given the truth, given the opportunity to smile with surprise and stand in the corner for support. She is the afterbirth, the remembered thought, the last resort, and she knows it shouldn't bother her now - it never has – but it troubles her much tonight. It scratches in her heart and beats against her insides with no sign of retreat or remorse.

Her mind is so preoccupied she fails to notice the moving sky, the shooting of what appear to be stars across the dark map of blue night. At the moment the rumble roars louder than her engine, she looks out above her windshield and notices the stray lights heading down towards Earth. It takes a long second for it all to sink, mostly because the last time she saw anything like this, she ended up walking through the wreckage of the Kent Farm.

'Oh, god,' she whispers, stepping on the gas, hoping where she's going the meteors don't follow.

But they do. They beat her, falling out ahead of her and landing in the fields. They break out the lights coming from two houses and wipe out the chirping crickets in small craters beautifully crafted. No second thought fills her as she jumps out of her car and scrambles to a half burning house swallowed by barely audible screams she knows are real.

Pride takes a backseat, doesn't even fight it, as she calls on the first person she knows can save them with the corners of her lips throbbing.

'Clark!' she screams, her lungs hurting by the time she's said his name the fourth time, her feet bleeding against the jagged shards of meteorite rock that have landed near the semi collapsed house. 'Somebody help!'

Her feet are lifted, swinging in the air and no longer swimming in blood and grass. She's pressed against a hard chest and there's breathing, heavy, so heavily in her ear as he deposits her near her car. Lois grimaces, her feet finding swords of grass snaking into her flesh as he leans against her shoulder, still gasping for air. She pulls on Clark's shoulders, swathed in blue fabric smooth under her fingers.

'What's wrong?!'

He shakes his head, and starts to move away from her, stumbling nearly over his feet as he tries to make his way back toward the hopeless house. She runs, shoving the pain of her feet to the back of her mind as she tries to catch up to him, the red flapping of the cape behind him scorching her eyes.

'Lois!'

Her head spins around and her feet slide on the ground. Green Arrow catches her before she falls, his hands steady on her hips as he pulls her back toward the vehicle she's abandoned.

'Stay here, Lois!'

There's one second, probably shorter, where she watches them warily stand to the other before Clark runs into the house and then hands Oliver the two children at once. She doesn't have to be so close to know whatever is hurting him, has only grown stronger. When he comes out with the man, the last, and Oliver takes over the task of handling the man to an open field where his truck is parked, his footsteps are stuttered.

No one holding her back this time, she runs again, down the slope of the rotten hill and then attempting to catch him before he falls to his knees, the red cape engulfing them both. His body is burning, she thinks as she smells him.

'Come on, Clark!'

The only thing she can think to do is keep moving, farther and farther away, dragging him with all the strength she can find in her aching body. This is what she did last time, she remembers. This is what she did when he took her bullet.

'Keep going, Clark!'

Kal-El can feel it lessening, the burden of Kryptonite. His legs gain more stability and the searing pain of his burned flesh rolls down into dull throbs as she drops him into the passenger seat of her car. She starts driving and in the back of his mind he cracks a joke about her driving being able to kill him. It won't be until later he'll realize not all the human in him is gone.

'What the hell is wrong with you? You're a superhero! You're supposed to be invulnerable!'

'The meteors,' his breath suddenly regains strength and he can feel his powers reaching normal limits again. 'The meteor rocks are filled with pieces of kryptonite.' His eyes look down to see the burning and bleeding skin heal completely. When he looks back up, her nervous glances match her swallowing and she finally shakes her head harshly.

'Okay. Okay, you just healed yourself!'

'We must be far enough away.' Kal shifts in the seat, legs spread uncomfortably in the simple vehicle, body caged in like an animal. 'Let me out here.'

'Uh, no.' She scoffs, the sound rolling off her tongue more blasé than she feels. 'It may have escaped your notice but those meteors that just landed in Smallville might have friends.' Her throat loosens, refusing to say the next words because they may sound closer to fiction than fact. She pushes through, hoping something breaks, hoping it's him. 'You need me.'

In the pitch of her voice, he catches it, a slight inflection hard and torn at the corners, surely ready to bleed his fingers. His eyes flicker over her shaded face, the tightness of her mouth, the regret in her words. She must wish she were anywhere but here. He hadn't expected this in him – remorse or electricity flowing to the tips of his fingertips at three words.

'Lois, let me out. Or I'm jumping out.'

Her face hardens and her already tight mouth shrivels at the threat. The steering wheel in her hands burns as her fingers grip tighter against the leather.

'You. Need. Me.' Her eyes look at him and flicker down to where the moonlight is reflecting red. 'Superman.'

* * *

Solid, impenetrable, his body holds still as the miles shift slowly and the tires of her car begin to slow down a trail under old leafy trees. The crunch of unruffled dirt pervades his ears and he picks up the sound of frogs and cicadas mingling with a nonexistent wind. He does not know why his body and mind are still here, across from her. He has not looked her way since she branded him _Superman_, and whether the reason is in form of fear or pain, he can not rightly discern.

The moonlight flitters down, blue on the leaves and black on the trunks, and then there is more blue than black as they reach an impasse. He immediately scans the area for danger, finding nothing but blank space and expansive grass of a sloping hill. The engine falls silent and her breath taps against the steering along with her fingers. He waits for her lead, like long before, and while it aches strange in his heart, it beats nonetheless.

Lois swallows, sparing him no glance as she opens her door.

'Come on.'


	4. Iiii

_Title: One moment away_

_Disclaimer: I own not._

_Spoilers: All episodes_

_A/N: I am going to get into the groove of replying to reviews. I swear. And many many thanks.  


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Iiii:

_Are they gonna remember you  
for running away or saving the day  
from the darkness and letting your  
love shine through_

-

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His breathing is even, watching her through the windshield, eyeing the pale white of her shirt circled around her human torso. Her steps are unhurried, and there is no hesitation through her muscles, no nervousness in her posture. Kal-El knows the mistake is still growing – he never should have opened that door, never. Here he is again, however, opening yet another one.

He steps out, clenching the side of his mouth together, measuring his steps behind her so that he can not meet her. The hitch of her leg fascinates him, beating against the earth harder than her right and making no apologies for it. The urge to ask, to question, to care, bubbles upward in the sea of drought he's long forced himself into. Kal immediately lifts his gaze, tracking the destination she's so determined to reach.

'How was Oliver here?'

The humid air scorches against her voice, much like fire, and he wonders if she means it that way or not.

'Don't know. Don't care.'

Even though it kills her, she throws a look backwards, not intentionally meaning to catch his gaze because she's found it's too much now. It could be the same for him, but she doubts it from the lack of interest pouring from his every essence.

He can feel the air of a wind coming, somewhere from beneath and he frowns.

'He uses the farm as his safe house. Where are you taking us?'  
It's her this time, refusing to answer and letting her silence lead the way with a smirk and yet nothing funny to be smiled at. He thinks, for the first time, that maybe she's not the same either. Kal-El brushes it off, focusing on their steps and the peak of what he assumes is a hill. Her steps halt, his follow suit, and then they stand feet apart, looking down on a piece of Smallville still slumbering in quiet reserve.

-

She'd found this place a month ago, accidentally, of course, and had it been on purpose as some part of divine intervention, she dared pay no heed. Tonight, she can only see so far, a few porch lights dimming, nightlights shadowing, and the rest shrouded in blue and night. Lois sighs, air meeting air, and the effectiveness of her plan marches ahead and like the walls of Jericho, crumbles into ruins. Her body turns, not as fluid as before but still in a swift motion, and before she loses the rest of her courage, she frees her mouth.

'You've been lying for a very long time.'

There is an effort, an obvious and painful one that accompanies each of her words. She hurts, the adrenaline flushed and the anxiousness dying down to nothing more than vague memory. What a fool she's been, believing in the Red-Blue-Blur and feeling butterflies whenever he called her. It's been a waste, probably a way to pass the time – let's see how long we can trick Lois.

'Yes.'

What she wants, he knows, is an apology to walk across through his mouth and erase the bruises dotting her thigh. Kal-El believes in those no longer, and try as he may, there is no changing that. Her mouth shapes close. He sees the muscles work smoothly, and he realizes she should not be able to. She should be gone, a ghost, barely alive – like him.

His throat tightens, a feeling so unfamiliar consuming him as her face dips away and the tip of her nose breaks the moonlight. He'd looked for her everywhere. _Everywhere_. For days after he escaped the geothermic explosion. For three months and five days after he left Smallville. He had searched, vainly, futilely, consumingly. To think he may have missed her, just the thin edge of a razor's sharp, breaks his tongue.

'You were supposed to be dead.' Her head flares up and if his head falls, he doesn't know. 'Where were you?'

When she speaks, throat constricted, the words are unbelievably coarse. 'Where were _you_?'

Because he was supposed to save her. Because if anyone could save her, Jimmy, Davis, the world, it was him.

'I couldn't stay.'

'Why?'

'There,' he looks over head, wondering where the change has settled, if it will stay with him. 'Was nothing here for me.'

'Chloe was here. She needed you.'

The blue of his eyes finds her hazel irises, and he nearly wants to laugh in her innocent face. She has no clue, no understanding, no comprehension of what has pushed him this far. His booted feet move forward, growling against the grass while his mouth tightens in constrained anger.

'I don't need her.'

'And me?' Lois matches his steps, slippers damp against the dew of the ground and the mixture of her blood. Her eyes show no mercy. 'Of course not.'

It's not easy, listening to her lack of faith, the black end of the ivory tail. He finds his hand immediately thrown around the crook of her elbow, close to encircling the thin joint and causing him to remember the strength he keeps in check. She doesn't even flinch at his touch, doesn't even break a sweat when his grip tightens minutely. If this is a game they're playing, she's determined to win, no matter how futile.

'I could break you in half without even trying.' His eyes search her face. 'I could burn your body to ashes.' His hand slides down to her forearm. 'I could run you to Metropolis in less than a minute.' Her wrist beats inside his hand, blood pumping faster and faster through her body. It's relief, short and sour against his tongue, an aftertaste far overdue.

'I'm not human, Lois.' He releases her, fire burning in his arm because touching her has always been avoided.

'And?'

There's defiance in her tone, and he nearly feels the blow of the word plow into his stomach as the memory of her standing in his barn, demanding him to stay and fight, slips through a crevice and anchors hold onto the wall. He hasn't expected this. He should have. He should have and too late he realizes her fears don't run the same as Lana's, as Chloe's. They flow freely, far separate and much shallower than any one else's.

'So you're from a planet far far away.' Her hand shoots to the sky, eyes staying on him. 'There are….'

Throat dry, she drops her gaze shortly, swallowing harshly and tasting the gumminess of thirst and something else, something darker and sore. Lois feels her shoulders drop as she turns away, crossing an arm over her chest and bringing the hand of the other over her lips. The sting of her feet bites through with her steps dropping away from him. In her vision, she catches the stars, the background of midnight blue, the glow of a neon moon, and she can feel more than see him at her back.

'You're not human.' He fights the draw to step closer as her voice drifts backward. 'And yet,' her forced smile slips around her words, 'you are by far the most human _being_ I've ever met.'

It's the closest he's felt to it in such a long, lonely time. Human. Her statement ties around him, silkily and cruelly, lapping against his ear and tender around his midsection. The dark of her hair waves against her back and he sees it's because of a shake of her head. He thinks she's changed her mind, seen the error of her ways and is ready to backtrack home now. It almost stings, and it's the most feeling he's had since she disappeared and Jimmy died.

'You _were_," she whispers, finally shifting her body to angle his direction, not willing to give him all of her when he's nothing of himself anymore.

'Lois,' even her name flares through his body with ire and utter dryness. 'I can't lie to myself anymore. All the choices I've made, everything that's happened because of me, it's because I tried too hard to be one of you. And I am done paying the price for it.'

'So this new life, it's what's best?'

'Yes.'

Even in darkness, her eyes burn into his and her disbelief is palpable and swollen. She clicks her tongue.

'Don't lie to me, Clark. Not anymore.'

Too close, she's walked too close and if she's careless like he knows she is, she'll be burned by the effort. He stiffens, too aware of the brink she's pushing him to and how easy it is to let her.

'It's Kal.'

The seconds which pass are to let her wet her mouth and stop from choking on her own chafing vocal cords.

'I like Clark better.'

'Clark isn't here anymore. You need to get used to it.'

The ultimatum is soft and as the words flee he finds himself wanting to both take them back and let them wash over her. She blinks at him.

'And if I can't?'

Before she finishes, her voice cracks, thick before the last and folding in on itself with the added weight. He feels it, peels it off her shoulders and places it among the many other burdens he's been hefting since the day he was found on this planet. It's not hard – not even close. But it reeks of human guilt, of human sympathy, and he has risen above such emotions. He has.

'You have no other choice.'

The breath leaves her, and it's warm in the night where it's turned cool in the seconds passing. This is not the man she left behind. This is not the same hero protecting their city better than ever before. She can't believe it – that even though he's right here, right _here_, he couldn't possibly be farther from her than ever before. She takes her steps toward him, eyes on his the whole time, hoping to see something streak across him to remind her of the farmboy from Smallville.

His body is solid, hollowed like steel and rooted like cement. Her neck flexes, raising her chin a fraction to keep his hold, and where before she would resist the minute distance, she has to _know_ now. This is her hero, the one she's dreamt about, the one she was so sure would be the foundation of her career. This is her hero, Clark, the sunny side looking optimist who oozed sympathy. This is her hope, newly defined.

Curiosity of her actions keeps him still. Her face has changed, becoming soft and unreadable, the most dangerous she could ever be. When her warmth brushes against his, just faintly, his back threatens to relax in a common posture. He refuses to cave, instead stonily meeting her gaze and trying hard to focus on any voice calling out for him. They're silent. Or maybe he's blocked them.

'Clark?'

Both her hands whisper in the air, trying to claim his chest and halting mid-air as if rethinking the action before the weight meets the fabric and presses harder. He wonders about the length of her hair and how it would work through his fingers.

'Clark?'

Her lips are smooth and the memory of a saccharine turned bitter melody wafts through with an unfinished ending. But that was when he was Clark and mistakes began to pile up. Kal-El shifts on his feet, backwards and none other, away from her and what she's trying to hold him to. It's fear and determination rolled into one. He doesn't want to lose her again, anyone again. He can be weak no longer, not with Metropolis on his shoulders.

'You don't have to be this kind of hero, Clark.' She wants to go after him, follow him step for step, but she remains still in the rejection. 'You don't have to give up your life, the things that make you happy. You can have _Clark_.'

If it ever sounded possible, only from her mouth does it sound meaningful. He casts it out as a fool's hope and turns his body to speed from her, leaving her the words that satisfy neither of them.

'I don't want Clark.'

He could, of course, just tell her that, but he'd prefer not to if there's any way around it.


	5. Iiv

_Title: One moment away_

_Disclaimer: I own not._

_Spoilers: All episodes_

_A/N: Last line of last chapter wasn't meant to be there. I'd edit it, but I don't want to spam you guys' inbox's_.

_A/N: Complete 180 this chapter is, but hold on, it'll slow and work smoother next chapter._

_

* * *

_

Iiv:

-

-

She's pacing, alone in the bullpen after hours with a coffee cup in one hand and the other on her hip. She looks toward the clock on the wall and realizes she's waiting because this was the time last time he came for her. Involuntarily, her head turns toward the white and blank computer screen that a week ago would have been filled with the latest Red-Blue-Blue encounter. They've become plentiful by now, and he's no longer shy, or merciful.

'Lane?'

Lois turns, startled and nearly losing her cup with her gasp. Older hands cup hers and gray brows furrow at her misstep. She sighs.

'Sorry, Chief. Didn't hear you. What are you doing here so late?'

Perry White straightens his mouth and hurrumphs. 'I don't have to explain myself to you.'

In sprite of his gruffness, she smiles and sets her cup on her desk while resting her body slightly so it holds a piece of her weight, whatever is left of herself, that is. She watches his eyes travel to the computer and sees his brows return to their normal state. A small breath escapes him and she wishes in that moment that her father were here, hard and impenetrable, strong enough if she needed to bear her mass or make her carry it herself.

He moves beside her. 'I'm hoping that's not your hero article because it's due at eight o'clock sharp tomorrow morning.'

'Well now, Perry,' she eyes him, 'I would never put something of such importance to the last minute would I?'

'Of course you would.'

They both stare ahead then, silently standing with arms crossed over their chests. It seems like calm minutes to her and it slows her thoughts. Perry shifts beside her and it's so sudden and brisk she nearly falls over on herself, on her ticking time bombs.

'I don't know what's been going on with you this week, Lois.' His body has moved in front of her. 'It must be something big to have rattled you like this though, so…if you think you need to, I'll let you give the piece to someone else. What's his name, guy with the red hair, Robbins, can take it.'

It's the first time he's offered her, or anyone for all she knows, the opportunity and not an automatic pink slip. Her head nods.

'Thanks, Chief.'

As he walks from her, she notes the clean fabric of his brown sweater and the sharp cuffs of the white shirt under the sleeves. Before he's out of range she watches his head turn.

'I _do_ expect that article in the morning, Lane.'

She smiles.

-

The breath is leaving her by the time the police pull her away. Her hands are bloody and the skirt she is wearing is stained an awkward brown from the woman who had held onto her hair so hard it hurt. And that's not the worst. It's just begun and they're shoving her away from the wreckage of bus from tall apartment building a block from the Planet. She first spies him in the midst of the smoke and blazing fire. He's searching. His hands are moving so fast and his posture is tightly coiled and ready to release at any moment. Beyond the pressure of the fire hoses he doesn't flinch, and only when he's carrying some silent grandmother in his arms does the image fully set in for her.

He doesn't need her. He has this. He has his destiny.

Foolish, she's been, and this time all on her own. The firefighters and policemen brave the flames, walk through the smoke, and somewhere between the mixtures of black and yellow, the red and blue streaks through, always gentle and never wavering.

'Ma'am, did you live here?'

'No,' her voice is awed.

'Come on,' the male person presses on her shoulder and she lets him guide her away from the homes of so many quiet people this night.

-

In the back of his mind she's crying out for him. In his ears, her voice is whimpering. Sometimes, she's silent and listless in his arms as he passes her to uniformed men with stretchers. They're working the best they can, all of them, and he wants to yell at them. _Hurry up! Get her to a hospital! Don't you see she's hurt! _

A beam releases its weight onto him and breaks apart over his shoulders, something wet spitting onto the side of his face. Kal-El looks up and finds her crying, gashed between a refrigerator and collapsed reinforcement. Before he can reach her the floor falls in over him and she's gone, quiet. When the pieces of her are assembled in his arms, he thinks maybe he's wrong. Maybe he does need her.

-

The feeling has fled and in its place is doubt, mocking him and dancing on the edges of her feet dangling over the arm of the sofa. Something thick overcomes him and his fingers pick at the lock of the window leading to the fire escape he's nested on. Kal's legs weigh over a ton and his body is immediately oversized in its red and blue costume. His balance falters as the window opens and her body jumps to a sudden stand with a hand over her quickly beating heart.

Her heart. God, he can hear it pumping smoothly and strongly.

He braces an arm against the wall to steady himself and her footsteps, bare and whispering over the hard wood floor into the short hallway, trudge toward him, bringing him closer to the forlorn hope that somewhere there is peace for him. Her dark hair is wet, sliding over her shoulders and back leaving spots of wetness against the white shirt twisted around her body. He wants to taste it, sink his teeth into the cool feel of it.

Everything about her is hesitant, questioning, and he has made a mistake. It's written on her face and it stabs him smartly in the gut.

'I shouldn't have come.'

'No, you shouldn't.'

They both hold ends of rejection, spears sharpened lovingly in the others hands. He thinks she's finished, finally and truly. She thinks because he is here, the fight has just begun, strangely and cruelly. Kal awkwardly turns to leave, hands still braced on the wall when her hands wrap around his forearm and pull him backward. Into her. Around her.

Her back is pressed against the opposite wall, his hands locked around her waist and fingertips strong on the back of her spine. He still feels alien, straining in quicksand when his head leans into the crook of her neck; the clean smell of her hair is nothing like the ash his suit smells of. He burrows deeper and her arms hug him closer, tight around his neck and fumbling with the strands of his dark hair that have grown so much longer in her absence. She's alive and even now he finds it impossible.

The feel of her lips against his temple gives him breath and his eyes meet hers. She's hot and small, easily breakable and she doesn't shy away from his body. Her hand drifts down, slowly smoothing over his cheek and it's full of such gentle compassion that he's not sure whether such goodness should be bestowed upon him, the thing not capable of being human.

Gently, and he knows it, she's guiding his face toward her. This is not where he is supposed to be. He knows it. He does not want this, doesn't know how to any longer. His body stiffens, finally giving way to his control and he thinks, for a moment, she's free. He's freed her from whatever he is.

'No,' her word is strong, sharply carved and demanding.

Her human body overpowers his monstrous strength and he finds her lips pressed against adamantly across his own. She is branding him, marking him for a lifetime and he wishes she hadn't. He wishes so much he could take back time and never keep her so close. But his mouth opens in confused need and she takes the invitation gladly.

Heat rises, hearts quicken, and she's breathing heavily into his mouth. He's claiming what he can find, sucking and feeling greedy as he consumes what he can of her. This has never felt this way, kissing, and it's so much life. It's raw power and emotion in the back of his mouth and eating the human of her is thrilling and wanted.

More. He needs more. His mouth loses her and trails down her chin to the side of her throat where his tongue tastes the rush of blood flowing toward her brain. There's soap, sweat, sweetness in her skin and he tastes it down to the notch between her collar bones. How long has he wanted this? Four months? Five years?

A sweep of her hand gathers his hair between her fingers and she breathes his name. 'Clark.'

He becomes a statue, a man of steel grounded to human flesh. His eyes close and he wonders if she feels his eyelashes brush over her skin. He wonders if being human begins this way, and if the road should be traveled again. Her hands crawl across his shoulders and damn if he doesn't want to damn her to a life with him.

'Don't leave,' she whispers, and it's one of the few times he's heard her plead. 'Don't go.'

He has every intention of doing just that – leaving because they are fooling themselves if there is any other way. Her hands lift his face, straighten his body, and soon she's staring up into his worried face.

He's so close, she feels it, and she'll push him all the way to the cliff if it's the last thing she does. She'll split herself open rib by rib if that's what this calls for. She rises on her toes, kissing his lips softly once and again, trying to bring him back and far away from the thoughts that are clawing him home.

Kal looks down at her waiting face and he remembers the emptiness her departure four months past carving itself into the man he is now. He recalls the women with her face slipping away from life in his arms just hours earlier. He feels her now, real under his palms and soft against his body. There is only so much he is capable of, and being human is not one of those things. He can't. There's no way.

Her eyes swallow his. He is the only thought swimming in her mind and it feels nice. For once he's not on the outside, and it feels like purpose, somehow. He nods his head – words won't do. Her small hand clasps tenderly around his and pulls him out of the short hallway toward the living area, guiding him cautiously as he finds his footing. It's hard to concentrate on the specifics of her apartment as the dark of her bedroom meets his eyes and suddenly the sleepless nights and days climb onto his back and shove him onto her bed.

Lips tickle over his chin and his body melts into the covers. It's heaven, he's sure. A hand brushes back the hair falling over his forehead and the caress is light and vaguely maternal.

'You're tired.'

Very. 'I don't sleep much.'

'Go to sleep.'

He can feel her breath near his ear and he closes his eyes at her order. He has no idea what he's doing. He can't begin to imagine where to go from here. If he can, he will try not to think about it as long as he can, as long as she will let him. He's older now, they both are, and some things are not reversible. There are markings and etchings of things foretold he can not turn his back on, no matter how vainly he has tried before. He is nothing close to human and he has his destiny. He has Lois. He can't have both, and it's easy to see which wins.


	6. Iv

_Title: One moment away  
_

_Disclaimer: Don't own.  
_

_A/N: Sorry for the wait, but you know how life likes to show up every now and then. And, yes, I'm using a quote from the comics and kind of twisting it a little to fit into context. I hope you like it.  
_

* * *

Iv:

-

-

The sun streaks across his body, kissing the dirt on his suit, and he thinks about erasing his presence before she gets back, before she drops farther and he has no strength left to hold her back. Kal looks down at the note scribbled in her penmanship – Turning in article at work. Be back soon. Lois - and throws it onto the foot of the bed, sheets still strewn about as if they've spent the night twisting into each other and carving their initials with paper knives into the other's soul.

'You're still here!'

He turns his head swiftly and steps backward toward the wall, the farther the better because the light is immensely bright and suddenly everything has changed and he can't face it yet. Nodding his head, he tries to give her a smile but the act is so foreign he's sure he's failed.

'Well,' she nods her head emphatically, 'good. I uh,' she lifts a white bag in her left hand and a foam carrier holding two cups of coffee in her right, 'thought some pastries and coffee would be fine. I didn't know whether you'd want some doughnut holes or maybe a bearclaw and then I saw these amazing looking cinnamon rolls and the smell of coffee was heaven so I figured you still took yours the same way, the pansy way of course, andIreallydidn'tthink.'

This time his try at smiling is more sincere. She takes a deep breath.

'You don't want any of this, do you? Do you even _need _to eat?'

Her lips curve downward, tight to the side and it means she's kicking herself. He finds himself walking toward her, almost enjoying the annoyed look she's directing toward him – as if it's his fault for not needing human necessities. Stopping, her eyes watch his and he wonders where this new need has come from, somewhere thawing deep inside him or maybe writhing under his superficial skin the whole time.

'I'll take a cinnamon roll and the coffee.'

The shape of her face remains cautious, balancing the line between him humoring her and being honest. She must settle on the latter because he watches her fumbled show of swinging hands and paper napkins mingling with warm pastries until finally her gift is resting on an outstretched limb. No one has done this for him, not in a long while, and staring down at the gentle transfer from person to person, he almost feels like there's hope – hope for mornings such as these.

'I have to go, Lois.'

It's abrupt and he knows it, but the feelings are coming now and he can only face them alone.

'Go?' She blinks. 'Go where? I took the day off. I thought we could, you know, talk.'

She's dying to. He can feel it in the way her hands keep clenching on her cup, from the way she keeps throwing her bangs out of her face. He can't honestly say he could deny her.

'It's complicated,' he says.

'It's not so –.'

The front door creaks open in warning and he looks up, finding himself glued to the floor and unable to speak as Chloe marches into the living room with a bag of groceries in front of her.

'Miss Lane! You're officially under my - .'

Her voice halts as she spies him then, her view straight into the doorway of Lois' bedroom where he's standing. He's almost certain she begins to smile, bright at the corners and lifting the circles under her eyes. He can hear the fibers of his muscles freeze collectively, even taste the way his mouth sets in reserve while watching her lips mottle together with something like concern keeping them cold. They both know she's become nothing but a thorn in his side, memories of a past filled with rotten mistakes, and he wants no part of it. He has enough blood on his hands.

Words don't get left behind when he leaves.

* * *

Her form rests on the steps, light blue tank top over dark blue jeans, hair pulled up with a few strands loose in the humid air of an early September. He's almost a mile away on the dirt road leading to the Kent farm, trying to decide if what he plans on doing next is going to be the disastrous end to his disastrous courtship. A dog barks, Shelby, and for not the first time he doubts his returned presence here – a previous home housing a previous life.

Kal soldiers on through his trepidation, not nearly as hard as it once was, and places himself in front of her, blocking the sun and offering shade. Her face is surprised at his sudden appearance, a slight tug of her lips announcing the beginning of an excited smile. The upturned look deforms as her eyes travel down his body, finally seen in full light and without a smudge of dirt or death upon the fabric. He can't help but stand still, wanting to memorize her reaction, needing to feel the appreciation, hoping to see her proud.

When her eyes reach his again, her look snakes upon him, grabbing his peace with iron fingers and shaking him gently. Kal-El doesn't know what it means.

'I should probably stop calling you Smallville, shouldn't I?'

He feels a shoulder shrug, his mouth still attempting to gain the momentum and spill out his request.

'You want to explain what this morning was about, Clark?'

Blue eyes narrow. Hazel eyes burn.

'No.'

'Why?'

His head tilts slightly, weighing whether the truth would do more harm than good, and then wondering when he started to care either way. He shakes his head slowly.

'It would…only hurt you.'

The words exit and he's the only one who realizes the significance of the simple sentence; she still doesn't understand yet. There's something in the way her hands tie together that tells him she's struggling with letting him reveal the truth in his own way and just barreling through with questions in her way. He waits, not willing to spare her details if she asks.

'Fine.'

One single word floats between them and Kal is left standing in soft surprise, a warm feeling becoming so well associated with her climbing the rings to his soul. He gives out his hand slowly and thinks of a dog with too much life in its mind and nothing left to show but fear to the rest of man. In contrast, her hand grows forward and finds his easily, trusting blindly in an alien creature.

"I thought, since you know about me, you should know about it all." He frowns. 'You need more clothes.'

She mimics his wrinkled skin.

'What's wrong with my clothes?'

* * *

She shivers against him and he holds her closer to his chest as he walks into the Fortress.

'Clark,' she whispers against his neck as her eyes widen in recognition.

He still remembers it well, hearing her call it heaven and feeling like she's absolutely confounding and never predictable. He feels the same way now, listening as her breaths quicken and her head cranes to get a better view of the crystals lining the walls and ceiling. He stops in the center, waits for her mouth to shut and her eyes to fall on his.

'This is…this is where I thought I…. What is this place?'

She's fighting to escape his arms and he lets her go, letting her lead him with a hand gently resting on his upper arm. The fingers of her left hand softly touch the light crystals and her body turns around the whole room, her right hand traveling down to circle his wrist, breathing her blood against his. Turning quickly on her heel she looks at the emblem on his chest, reminded of some acid trip where he was her hero and it seemed so silly at the time.

Kal-El can no longer fight the muscles working in his body, the ones forcing his feet forward so his heart his closer to hers. She relaxes and he welcomes it, even if he finds it strange she would feel more at home here than in her apartment.

'This is the closest I have to a home.'

'Home? You have the farm.'

'No,' he shakes his head. 'How much has Chloe told you?'

* * *

'They must have loved you very much.'

Kal turns his head to the right, trying to catch the wistfulness that floats across her face before she turns her attention back to the ceiling. How they ended up on the floor he doesn't know, but it's easier than he thought – the telling, even more the reaction.

She pulls the sleeves of her coat over her hands.

The action is caught and he peels the cape off his back, deft fingers quick in the movement before throwing the material under her chin. Her eyes drink him in and he's sure it's love, or something close, maybe admiration. His hands are roughly smooth, suddenly calmed and gentle against skin like thin paper and glass. He moves the fabric to shape over her body, softly leaving touches where he can bear it and finding the color suits her.

'Warm now?'

'Yes,' her air is soft, 'thank you.'

The urge to kiss her rides starkly up on him and he throws himself back onto the floor, thudding with too much mass but touching her shoulder to shoulder and balling his hands into fists on his stomach.

'Jor-El used to come here, or part of him was here.'

'Part of?'

'Like I said,' he nearly smiles, 'complicated.'

'So, the great Kents found you and dressed you in plaid couture. Lucky.'

Smirking, she nudges his foot with her own and is graced with something like a near chuckle more snort from him. She turns her head and leans slightly to face her body towards his, feeling that gravitational pull that's kept her tethered to him even from amnesia.

'You really were lucky, Clark. Of all the people who could have come across that ship, they were first.'

His voice is softer, maybe because she's lying so close to his flesh or he's feeling so subdued, but he doesn't want to crush her beliefs, her romanticism. He nearly wants to believe it too.

'Unfortunately.'

'You don't meant that.'

'Lois, I fell from the sky into some random patch of Earth. I just wanted to be normal.' His eyes shut for just a second. 'All I wanted was to be a regular kid for them, but no matter what I did I was always different. They were always different.'

It's breaking for her, chipping away at the cartilage between her nimble joints, and despite the awkward tingle always associated with the skin over his bones, she frees a hand under the cape and brings his chin up to look directly into his eyes. They're blue and clouded, rushed with memories of feeling like an outsider in no man's land.

'Smallville,' His hand captures hers in a vice and for a second she wonders if the session has ended and she's out of luck. She's not, for once, and his hand grows around her wrist like the roots of an oak in a state park. 'None of us are normal. We all…fall from the stars and into the arms of strangers.'

This heart of his contracts, and it's as if no one has ever truly seen him before. They have seen Clark Kent. They have seen the Red-Blue-Blur. Yet no one has seen them both equally, as finite halves of a whole. Not until now. It shakes him profoundly, almost makes him know what being human feels like, what with her soul searing words and her eyes so full of truth.

'What is it?' she asks, worried because his body has become dangerously still and his face has slackened to stone.

Kal-El watches the frown form and immediately drops his face to hers, finding her mouth with his own and catching the breaths escaping her body. He tastes her lips and moves his tongue to devour more of her humanity, of her absolute charity, and he feels none the sorry for it. If it lets him feel this, with her, he'll do what he has to.


End file.
